


La Aguja

by evocates



Category: Sharpe - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Het and Slash, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocates/pseuds/evocates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The needle is not only sharp. A leader does not only listen. For kink_roulette@LJ prompt #12: Threesome </p>
<p>Written October 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Aguja

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Het sex, lack of gay sex, threesome sex. Teresa’s POV.

The French named her needle, _La Aguja_. Sharp and small and startling when she pricked. There was a hidden insult there as well—of her status as a woman, better served at home with needle and thread than with sword at hand—but Teresa always smiled to herself. Every time a Frenchman dared laugh at her, she would put that thin, sharp sword through his stomach.

Richard glanced at her, startled by her sudden smile, but Teresa only shook her head, lowering her eyes to her book until he turned back to Harper again.

The curious thing about nicknames: the object was taken for only one, or at most two, characteristics. The French had named her well, but they had forgotten that the needle was also well known for its great eye at the very top. She had told Richard once that a leader listened twice as much as she spoke, but she had deliberately not told him also that a leader _watched_ at least twice as much as she spoke as well.

From beneath her eyelids, Teresa watched as Harper slung an arm around Richard, laughing raucously at some joke that he had been told. She knew that it took far more that a single bottle of brandy to get an Irishman drunk, much less an Irish soldier, and he was pretending to be far more sheets to the wind than he really was. It gave excuse enough for him to touch Richard like this in front of her, though why exactly he needed an excuse, she did not entirely understand.

Teresa knew soldiers well, however. She travelled and commanded a whole group of them, though they called themselves guerrillas. She knew how they behaved; knew the camaraderie between them. She knew that the almost-guilty glances that Richard and Harper shared were uncommon, even amongst the soldiers who bled and fought and died and killed for each other and their cause.

Turning a page in the book she was only pretending to read, she watched as Richard grinned, the same wide grin that he gave her every time that she came to their camp. Hogan called her in to report to him often, but neither she nor the spymaster were fools—she knew perfectly well that he chose the camp because of her relationship with Richard. Idly, she wondered if he knew about this—and would not be surprised if he did.

Richard grabbed the bottle of brandy from Harper’s hands, draining it and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips were shiny from alcohol and spit, red from the heat of the fire, and Teresa knew that her eyes were not the only pair fixated upon them. Harper’s eyes flickered away guiltily once he realised she was watching, and Teresa ducked her head, smiling to herself.

He was a good man, Patrick Harper. If her parents were still living, they would approve of him as a match for her more than they would Richard—after all, he was no heathen. But her parents were dead, murdered by the French, and Teresa was no longer the naive little girl waiting for marriage and a man who would look at no one else but her.

A leader spoke half as much as she listened or watched. Teresa rarely preferred speaking when actions would do better. She watched Richard sighed quietly and leaned against Harper’s shoulder, his eyes closed—only when he opened them and noticed her gaze that he jerked, straightening himself and avoiding both of their eyes, staring into the fire. His arms wrapped around his chest. Harper looked at those hands for a moment before he sighed, tossing the brandy bottle into the fire.

She closed the book. Perhaps tonight would not be a good day to begin—the drink would serve too well as excuse, and even if it did not, she would prefer their heads clearer. There was no hurry; she would be with them for at least a week.

***

The camp woke the next morning to the sun on soldiers’ arses and scorching officers’ tents. 

For most of the men, that was, but Teresa was long used to strange night hours and this was her country—she knew the time of the sun’s rising as well as the schedule of her monthly bleeding. She smiled to herself at the sight of Richard sprawled in bed, his lips parted and soft breaths escaping his teeth in wheezes. Slowly, Teresa walked her fingers up his naked thigh, stifling her giggles with military precision even as she shifted on the cot.

Richard Sharpe woke up that morning with Teresa’s mouth on his cock, far hotter than the sun could ever b. His fingers curled automatically by his side, as if pressing onto a rifle’s trigger, even as his back arched. Teresa shoved him back down on the bed and Richard knew her well enough to immediately shove those instinctive fingers into his mouth, teeth sinking into flesh as Teresa’s throat took him all the way in.

Her nails scratched red lines down his thighs, the barest sparks of pain, and Richard thrashed on the cot as quietly as he could, gasps and strangled moans escaping him despite his best efforts. Teresa didn’t mind; she loved him like this most, when he was in full abandon, his eyes green-dark and wild, blond hair tousled and face flushed. Like this, he was no soldier, belonging to Wellington and his officers; like this, he was only a man who belonged to her.

Richard gasped like a dying man as she leaned back and swirled her tongue around his cock decadently. Had Patrick Harper ever heard him like this? Had the two of them had ever dared for anything other than friendly hugs and shoulder slaps during the long months that she was away, doing Hogan’s bidding for the sake of Spain’s freedom? Teresa hoped that they had—she could not imagine Richard being alone for long, and she would rather Patrick Harper than a woman whom he might love quickly and leave with his child still growing in her belly.

“ _Teresa_ ,” her name sounded like the filthiest of prayers on his lips. Teresa smiled, leaning back on her haunches and letting Richard’s cock slip from her mouth. She tilted her head up, and Richard immediately reached forward, burying his fingers in her hair as their lips crashed together. No matter how long they had known each other, no matter for how long a time they had made love, their kisses were always passionate to the point of violence, teeth and tongues and lips claiming each other, over and over.

She pressed a hand against his chest, urging him to lean backwards as she broke the kiss. There was rebellion in Richard’s eyes, but she gave him a smile and he sighed almost like a child before he dropped backwards on the cot. In moments like these, Teresa couldn’t help but remember that though there was plenty tragedy and hardships in Richard’s life, though they were almost the same age—in many ways her scars made her stronger, older, and she leaned in and brushed her lips against his.

“Hurry up, won’t ya?” he smiled up at her, his eyes nearly glowing green in the half-light of the tent. “Ya keep dawdlin’, and people would come knockin’ in ‘ere ta ask fer the both of us, and this,” he stroked her back from shoulder to hip, and Teresa smiled as she arched against the touch, “ain’t fer anyone else ta see.”

“Patience,” she placed two fingers against his lips. His tongue darted out, the tip tickling the edge of one sword callus—and Teresa’s breath hitched. The heat in Richard’s gaze grew even more, and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her in as he took her fingers into his mouth fully. She couldn’t breathe all of the sudden, breath stuck in her throat. Richard grinned triumphantly at the sight of her at a loss of words and motion most, and he tilted his head, utterly filthy as he licked her fingers from the base all the way to the tips.

He was beautiful. Teresa had a talent for words, knowing how to shape each of them to her best advantage, but she could find no words that could fully describe Richard Sharpe. There were so many occasions when she thought that it would be far more sensible for the two of them to stop this affair of theirs, but she would see him in the sunlight and he would take her breath away all over again.

“Down,” she forced the word out, pulling her fingers out of his mouth. She moved back down the cot, parting her lips to take him in again, and her wet fingers stroked his balls. Richard dragged in a sudden breath, and she blinked as she moved back even further, to the warm skin underneath—and somehow she was not at all surprised when he spread his legs, heels digging into the cot as he lifted his hips.

Teresa slipped the fingers inside him. Richard _whined_ , like a scared horse, his eyes wide as he looked at her. She pulled her fingers out slightly and pushed them in, all the way to the second knuckle, and he bucked underneath her, hips lifting, trying to shove himself downwards—and she obliged, thrusting her fingers in entirely, curling them upwards and she cursed her calluses for she could not feel what suddenly had him shouting, his whole body jerking as he came inside her mouth.

She pulled away, turning her head to the side to find a piece of rag before she spat into it. Teresa had tasted much worse, but she disliked swallowing—it brought back memories she would rather not revisit while Richard was in her bed. 

There were hands on her shoulders and Richard was pulling her back, slamming her onto the cot and there were fingers inside her, a thumb rubbing the nub hidden beneath her lips. Teresa cried out, muffled in time by Richard’s mouth, and she writhed underneath his hand as he slammed three fingers inside her, again and again. Teresa threw her head back, breaking the kiss and trying to stifle her cries with the back of one hand—and Richard was moving down, his hands shoving her legs apart before his tongue was inside her, around her, as wicked on her sex as it was ever in his mouth. Teresa gasped for breath as he brought her into a sudden, swift climax that had her shuddering beneath his hands, his mouth, his weight.

“Yer ‘air’s a mess,” Richard said, his voice rumbling against her hip. He pushed himself up and ran his sticky fingers cheekily through the strands sprawled all around them. “I like it like that.”

Teresa laughed breathlessly. He always took her by surprise, driving every single thought out of her mind until she could only think of him—and this time was no different. Reaching up, she let his blond hair run through her fingers, urging him for a kiss. He obliged her, and they tasted each other on their tongues and lips, and Teresa giggled at the sudden thought of what Hogan’s face would look like if he smelled her on Richard’s mouth.

“What are ya laughin’ ‘bout?” he pulled away. His fingers down travelled down from her throat to curve around her breasts, drumming the tips against her stomach. She laughed again at the ticklish sensation.

“Richard,” she breathed. She traced his lips with a tongue. “Do my fingers feel as good as Patrick Harper’s?”

He jerked, panic flashing across his eyes, tensing as if to bolt, to deny—and she leaned up and kissed him again. Richard looked so confused when she pulled back again that she smiled and kissed him on the temple.

“I didn’t—it ain’t anythin’, just two soldiers--”

“We don’t make promises to each other, Richard,” Teresa murmured. “But if we did, I’d rather that you keep your promise for being honest than for you to always be faithful.” Her hand splayed on his naked chest, feeling the small hairs that were too light to be seen. “Don’t lie to me that he’s not important to you.”

“Teresa—” he shook his head hard before he leaned back to sit on the couch. “I don’t know what yer sayin’.”

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t hide your affection for him from me.” Her smile widened, turned mischievous. “I want to see him with you,” she cocked her head, then corrected herself. “With the both of us.”

“Wha—?”

“Leave the asking to me,” she grinned.

She always did like making him speechless; after all, turnabout was fair play. 

***

“Good mornin’, Miss Teresa.”

Harper’s greeting floated towards her the moment she stepped out of her tent. The sun was only halfway out of the clouds, but Harper was already fully dressed and was oiling his rifle near the ashes of the fire last night. Teresa smiled to herself, nodding at him.

“Morning, Sergeant.” 

She lifted her hands out and tipped her head back, letting the muscles of her back stretch as much as possible. It wasn’t too unrestrained a move for a well-bred lady, but it had been a very long time since Teresa had been a lady, no matter how fond the Englishmen were of calling her ‘Miss’.

“Ye ‘ad a good night?”

Cracking an eye open, Teresa just let her smile grow into a smirk before she walked towards Harper, dropping down to sit on the log opposite him. Immediately, his eyes darted away, focusing on his heavy nock volley gun with so much concentration that it was obvious he was avoiding her gaze.

Soldiers might be cheats and thieves, but at heart they were honest men.

“I did.”

“Aye, that’s a good thing, that.”

Silence fell between them. Harper had never been so awkward with her the first time they met. Teresa chuckled mentally—it would do no good to laugh at this point.

“Richard’s taking his shave,” she said idly. Harper increased his efforts at the gun, cleaning it with such effort that she thought he might just break the heavy weapon. 

“I came out early to talk to you.”

Harper gave her a startled look, finally meeting her eyes.

“Ye wanted ta talk to me, ma’am?”

“Well,” Teresa stood, taking a single step forward. “My first idea was talking, yes.”

The early morning meant that most of the soldiers were still just waking up, and the camp was as empty as it could be. There was little privacy amongst soldiers, and Teresa knew that they gossiped as much as women were said to. Her eyes darted around the camp, making sure that no one else was looking.

“Ma’am?”

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against Patrick Harper’s. Barely a kiss, but with enough force that he could not excuse it as imagination.

“Doing is better than talking,” she said, her breath ghosting against Harper’s cheek. She laughed softly, stepping back and keeping her eyes on him.

Harper’s eyes were wide as he stared at her, his hand half-lifted as if to touch his lips—but not daring, because to do so would to give himself away unduly.

Teresa gave him a soft, reassuring smile, but he still looked at her like a rabbit faced with the muzzle of a gun.

“Soldiers keep secrets badly, Patrick Harper,” she murmured, her voice barely loud enough to be heard. “That is why they are not spies, and why they have officers.”

Harper opened his mouth. Closed it with a _click_.

“I have a meeting with Major Hogan,” Teresa stood up, brushing her hands down her thighs, letting her fingers linger. It was odd—months ago she hated the eyes of men who looked at her like she was a woman, but now she could not help the chill down her spine at the sudden fire in Harper’s eyes as he followed her hands.

“Come to our tent tonight. Do not take too long to think, Sergeant; my men and I will have to leave soon.”

Turning to walk away, she paused when she heard him whisper: “The Major’s got a remarkable woman in ye, Miss Teresa.”

She turned and shot him a smile. 

“I know. Will you come?”

Harper looked down at the nock gun laid across his knees, at the gun oil that stained the tips of his fingers. He did not answer her.

He did not have to: she could already tell from the small, upward curve of his mouth.

***

The men had marched more miles today. Teresa kept a map in her mind, tracking the land that they had crossed. Soon she and her men would return to Spain, and the British would follow, bringing their guns and cannons and Wellington’s strategies behind them. Napoleon’s puppet king would not hold falsely to Spain’s throne for very long.

But those were worries for the march and for Hogan, not for the little time she still had with Richard. The Major had already kept her away from her lover for long enough; if he wanted her counsel again, he would have to wait.

The light of the dying sun made shadows dance across the cloth of Richard’s tent, and Teresa smiled to herself. Pulling back the flap and slipping in silently, her breath caught at the sight that met her.

Harper’s hands were large on Richard’s hips, almost enveloping the narrow bones entirely. The tips were gun-callused and dirty from the road as they stroked against the barely-exposed skin, but Richard seemed to barely notice it. Teresa could not blame him: Harper’s mouth was wrapped around his cock, lips red and slickened with spit, and Richard strangled a moan as he squeezed his eyes shut even harder, head hanging between his shoulders. He grasped a handful of his Sergeant’s curls, hanging on tight as his hips jerked forward, looking as though he was going to lose his balance at any moment.

Teresa couldn’t have that. She stepped forward, making sure her feet made sound on the stony ground. Richard’s eyes flew open, making to pull away from Harper, but Teresa moved too quickly. She slid her hand into his hand, holding him tight before she pulled his head back and claimed his lips, kissing him hard, teeth slipping between his teeth to taste him inside out. Richard moaned softly, his hips jerking forward towards Harper than back towards her, and Teresa pulled open his green rifleman’s jacket to reach the thin white shirt underneath, pulling the laces loose and opening him up for her inspection.

There were questions in Richard’s eyes when she broke the kiss so she could pull the shirt over his head. His gaze darted between her and Harper, shuddering as Harper licked the head of his cock with the very tip of his tongue. He licked his own lips, and Teresa answered the unasked question as she slipped two fingers into his mouth, feeling its heat and wetness. Richard’s eyes burned, black ringed with a green fire, and he leaned towards her until the very last knuckles ever between his teeth, swirling his tongue around the digits. 

Suddenly, Richard jerked and tore his mouth away from her skin, groaning almost loudly enough to wake the dead. Teresa’s eyes darted down, and the coiling heat in her own groin at the sight of Harper’s thick, long fingers disappeared inside Richard could not be denied. She dropped down to her knees, her teeth scraping against the back of Harper’s hand, tasting salt and filched cooking oil from the kitchen tents.

“Bed,” Richard breathed. Harper and Teresa, still on their knees, looked up at him, and he licked his lips and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Leave some steel in me legs fer tomorrow’s march, aye?”

Harper chuckled. His mouth pressed against the edge of Richard’s thigh, bare inches from his cock, and Richard nearly buckled. Teresa stood, cupping his face in her hands as she kissed him again, distracted him while Harper pulled away to set up the cot and the bedrolls.

“He’s a good man, Patrick Harper,” Teresa murmured, pressing little kisses along the line of Richard’s jaw. Her fingers cupped against the back of his neck, sliding into his hair. He met her eyes, callused fingers stroking her cheek.

“Aye, that he is,” he said, gaze flickering over her shoulder. “And yer a good woman too.”

She only laughed in reply, tugging him towards the cot. It was a small thing, barely enough to fit the two of them some nights, but they would manage. They were soldiers; they had slept in worse places.

Harper looked awkward standing next to the cot, looking at Richard and her as if he didn’t know what to do. Men, truly—Teresa pulled away from her Captain, reaching out towards his Sergeant and kissing him softly. Harper made a soft noise, surprised, but she refused to pull away, fisting the shoulders of his uniform. He was still overly dressed and so was she, but she felt Richard’s hands brushing against hers as his hands slid over Harper’s chest, unbuttoning his jacket. Harper made a soft noise, sighing deep in his throat as he leaned into her, finally returning the kiss.

He was a handsome man, Patrick Harper was. Not beautiful like Richard was, but Teresa thought no one could near Richard’s beauty, not when it had struck her so hard the very first time she saw him, even with his hair dishevelled and blood all over his face.

She pulled away and pulled at the scarf wound around her neck, wanting her clothes to get out of the way. Harper’s chest was bared now, nearly as smooth-skinned as Richard but with sparse, curling black hair curling on his chest. His hands were large and rough on her skin as he helped her undress. The sight of Richard’s golden hair over his shoulder made Teresa’s breath catch and her groin start to ache.

“We ain’t fittin’ on the cot,” Harper said.

Richard snorted, “Yer sayin’ ya can’t think of a way?”

“No, sir,” Harper snapped back in reply, his tone in perfect deference but the twinkle in his eye belied it. “Have a suggestion, sir.”

“Ya waitin’ fer an order ta tell it?”

“No, sir, no orders needed ‘ere, sir.”

Harper turned to her, smiling. “Would ye get ta the bed, Miss Teresa?”

“Just Teresa,” she replied, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss against an almost-smooth cheek. Turning away from them, she slipped fully out of her trousers, letting the cloth drop to the floor. She could feel the heat of Richard’s gaze rake over her naked body and it was as familiar to her as the touch of his skin, but Harper’s eyes were on her too, and that was new. New, and gratifying.

She stretched out on the bed, parting her legs. Her hand reached out, pulling Richard close by his hip, and he followed her, leaning down until he was fully on top of her. Her eyes met Harper’s over his shoulder, and she was smiled when she realised they were thinking about the same thing. 

Richard’s cock was hard against her thigh, and he kissed her hard for a moment before his mouth shifted down, teeth and lips on her neck. Teresa dropped her head back, letting a moan escape even as she felt Richard shudder against her. Harper was so much closer now, his weight pressing Richard down onto her, and her fingers skittered across golden skin until she felt the edge of Harper’s palm. Harper grabbed hold of her hand, tangling her fingers with his own before he pressed something into her palm.

Teresa leaned back, turned her head even as she felt Richard’s hands on her thighs, spreading her legs wide. She let him, arching her back and raising her hips, and he kissed her collarbone, her breast, his mouth against her nipple. He was pressing inside her, spreading her open, and Teresa moaned soft, under her breath. For a long moment she just didn’t remember that she had something in her hand.

But Harper’s fingers brushed against her wrist and she remembered again. Richard was still, his breath hot on her skin, and she turned her head. It was a small crystal bottle, filled with the oil from the kitchens, and Teresa wondered wryly from which French officer Harper had stolen the vial from. But it was only a fleeting thought; she poured the rest of the oil over her fingers, spreading them all over the tips, and danced them over Richard’s hips.

Harper’s fingers were still inside him. Teresa met his eyes again, smiling over Richard’s bowed head, and she pushed inside. Richard jerked against her, his eyes wide and so green that it took her breath away.

“Buggerin’ ‘ell,” he breathed.

“Aye, sir. That a right word for it, that,” Harper was grinning, and he twisted his fingers inside. Richard shook against her, his hips shoving forward, deeper than he had ever been, and Teresa moaned.

Richard buried his hands in her hair, kissing her hard, and she just opened her mouth, letting him take it while her fingers shoved inside in to the very knuckles. He tore away from her, throwing his head back, blond hair falling all over his face. 

“ _Christ_. Pat- Pat, I ain’t a virgin recruit. C’mon,” he shot a glance backwards. “Get in me. Get in me with Teresa’s fingers still in me.” He looked at her before he ducked his head down, as if suddenly ashamed of his language. “Sorry.”

Teresa only laughed. She spread her legs wider, tugging him closer even as Harper’s fingers pull out of him. She kept hers inside Richard’s heat, slowly thrusting in and out, and she wondered if that was how men always felt—the heat, the tightness, the sheer power of _taking_. A shiver wound its way down her spine at the thought.

Harper’s wrists crossed over her arms as he grabbed onto Richard’s hips. She could feel it—Harper’s cock press in beside her fingers, Richard’s pants speeding up, hot and shallow, on her shoulder, Harper’s weight pressing Richard down onto her.

She breathed a curse, not even sure what it was or even the language. She tilted Richard’s face up. His eyes were glazed over with pleasure and lust, and he looked at her for a moment as if he wasn’t quite sure she was real; as if she was a dream made into flesh just for him.

He breathed her name before he attacked her mouth, and Teresa barely had the thought to part her lips as she drew her fingers out and slammed them in together with Harper’s cock. It drove Richard into her again, the cot creaking around them, and he cursed again before he shoved himself up. He slipped a hand to the place where they were joined most intimately, his thumb finding the small bud with long practice.

Teresa cried out, loud enough to echo around the tent. She forced open her eyes, looking at Harper as he bit down on Richard’s shoulder, stifling his own cries as he thrust harder and harder into his Captain, into her Richard. Desperately she reached out for him, kissing him again, swallowing his noises even as Richard’s words grew incoherent, his accent blurring his words as he came, heat rushing inside her. His fingers rubbed against her even more insistently, and Teresa broke the kiss and gasped, without any breath left to cry out as she shook, stars exploding behind her lids.

Harper muttered something, perhaps a name, and he lowered his head as he drove into Richard harder and harder, short and erratic. Richard groaned against her skin, his full weight on her body and his cock still twitching inside her.

When Harper reached his own completion, she felt it—the swell of his cock beside his fingers, his last push shoving her up the cot until her shoulders touched the wall. 

She did not know how long she laid there, trying to breathe with the weight of two men on her. When she could not stand it any longer, she nudged Richard, who only made a soft, protesting sound and shoved his elbow into Harper’s chest. Harper chuckled, pulling out before he slumped on the side of the cot. It creaked again, but all three of them ignored it.

Teresa’s fingers slowly pulled out of Richard’s body. She could feel the stickiness at its tips, the remnants of Harper’s passions as obvious as Richard’s seed inside her. Without even thinking about it, she raised them to her mouth, darting her tongue out for a taste—salt and bitterness.

“Teresa,” Richard said, his voice hitching, his eyes fixated on her mouth. He licked his lips, swallowing as if he didn’t know where to begin.

“Night’s late, sir,” Harper said before she could. “Plenty o’ time tomorrow fer talkin’.”

“Tomorrow,” Teresa agreed. She brushed her lips against Richard’s before she nudged him again. Richard closed his eyes, sighing before he pulled out of her, slumping half on Harper’s chest, half on hers. 

Harper dropping an arm over Richard’s waist, looking at her as if he thought she would protest. Teresa only smiled, draping her thigh over Richard’s hip and leaning against his shoulder. She closed her eyes. 

Tomorrow they would have to speak more about this, but tonight Teresa would try their combined luck on the small cot’s stability and sleep.

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> “Soldiers might be cheats and thieves, but at heart they were honest men.” The line is shamelessly paraphrased from [caras_galadhon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon)’s wonderful fic, “[Green-Eyed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/463704)”.


End file.
